


Short lived

by Hullanta



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF England (Hetalia), England Needs Tea (Hetalia), not historically accurate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2020-09-24 09:24:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hullanta/pseuds/Hullanta
Summary: Basically just a collection of short little fics that may be soundboards for future projects. Mostly England Centric.1.) Rage, rage against the dying of the light2.) Drumming3.) Memory4.) Steel





	1. Rage, rage against the dying of the light

**Author's Note:**

> The need to protect and the desire to act often clash.
> 
> Do not go gentle into that good night,  
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

‘So are we just going to sit here like a bunch of helpless children?’ England fumed sat in between France and Canada. Various nations groaned in annoyance.

‘What exactly do you suggest we do Oh Mighty Empire? If we fight we die but if we stay here we might not. The choice is clear, we stay put.’ France admonished. England flinched visibly at the reminder of his weak state. He may have fallen as an Empire but unlike many Empires before him he had not yet yielded to death nor destruction despite the numerous attempts by several nations within the last century.

‘I may not be an Empire any longer but my spirit has never been broken, can you say the same?’ He threw back clearly still agitated. France inhaled sharply.

‘Perhaps you just don’t know when to quit!’ He bit back. 

‘You’re right…’

‘Quoi?’ France asked astonished that his frenemy had agreed with him for once. But understanding dawned on his face as, standing slowly from his seat England bowed his head so his eyes were concealed, blond hair shifting gently in the slight breeze their environment allowed.The others watched in confusion. Norway and Denmark however, recognized the look on his face for what it was.

‘I don’t know when to quit.’ England agreed as he walked around the gathered nations towards the only door in the room. France scrambled up from his seat with Canada and America behind him.

‘What are you doing!?’ France shouted exasperated, obviously done with England’s stubborn nature but still not willing to see him throw his life away. England stopped with his hand on the door handle and turned to look over his shoulder at the nations behind him.

‘Tell me, what was Rome’s favourite lesson?’ He asked darkly. Portugal, Spain and France all paled as they remembered. The Italians perked up at the mention of their Grandfather.

‘What about Grandpa Rome?’ They demanded, well Romano did anyway.

‘Times have changed Inglaterra…’

‘Have they?’ England gave one more meaningful look before walking out of the room and into the darkness beyond the door. Spain cursed and stroad forward after England but Romano caught his arm before he could make it out the door and spun him around to face him.

‘Where are you going idiot and what was that bastard talking about?!’ Romano snarled. Spain just shook his head and removed Romano’s grip on his arm and held his hand.

‘Our time with Rome taught us many things, the most important lesson was branded into our minds.’Spain explained, 'He would have us face off against gladiators and wild animals often but rarely would he pit us against the Lions.’

‘But why big brother Spain?’ Italy asked, still cradled by Germany and Japan. Spain cupped Romano’s face and kissed his forehead lovingly.

‘Because the Lions would continue to fight until they died. Rome told us that if a blow did not kill us, like the Lions we must attain victory or face death. There is no retreat...’ He explained though he had no time to answer further as Portugal stepped forward also.

‘And Inglaterra was the most ferocious of all Lions.’ Portugal continued.


	2. Drumming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take my drum to England, hang et by the shore, Strike et when your powder’s runnin’ low; If the Dons sight Devon, I’ll quit the port o’ Heaven, An’ drum them up the Channel as we drummed them long ago.  
From Drake’s Drum by Sir Henry Newbolt
> 
> It is said that if England was ever in danger, all one had to do was beat on Drakes drum and he will return from heaven and restore that which has been lost.

Sir Francis Drake said that when England was in danger he would rise to defend it.

It was a relatively normal meeting, shouting and fights breaking out every which way. Notably there was one anomaly in this particular gathering of the worlds nations. No it wasn’t the visible presence of Canada or the many animals surrounding Australia, in this meeting England was as still as a statue gazing silently out of the rooms window. What he was pondering, no one knew but they knew enough to leave him alone. Except...America that is.

“Hey Britain-dude, whatcha looking at?” America yelled from across the room. England was expected to rave and shout at america in return and the lack of response prompted those gathered to draw their eyes to the nation in question. England just absentmindedly continued drinking his tea and ignoring the American. 

“America, maybe you should leave him alone?” Canada suggested from his place between Prussia and Russia, both of whom were vying for his attention. 

“Nah Canadia bro, I just gotta annoy him enough.” America stood and made his way over to the Englishman, passing many a nation who tried to stop him (mainly the members of the commonwealth). Just as he reached England, the brit’s head snapped back towards the centre of the room startling America onto his ass.

“Do-do you hear that?” England whispered as his face drained of colour and his eyes seemed to dull. Many were confused until New Zealand spoke.

“Ya mean the faint drummin’ from outside? I assumed it was just a street band mate…”

“Ve there isn’t any drumming New Zealand” Italy spoke confused.

“Of course there is, what are you on mate? I’ll admit it's faint but it’s there alright.” Australia piped up from next to his brother. All of the members of the commonwealth nodded in agreement. 

“I don’t hear any drumming…” America confessed. All non-commonwealth nations agreed that there wasn’t any drumming, or at least not any they could hear.

“How can some of us be hearing drumming but the others not?” China asked troubled. The sound of smashing ceramic answered him as England's tea cup fell from his fingers.

“Because that isn’t any ordinary drumming…” The Republic of Ireland told them whilst casting concerned glances at his brother. His brother who had somehow managed to become even paler as the sound of drumming became even louder in his head, shattered by the sound of screaming. It wasn’t until England’s throat was hoarse he realised it was he who had been screaming and the pain of his chest exploding registered. The nations looking on however, didn’t notice his injury until after the second explosion of blood.


	3. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A million feelings.  
A thousand thoughts.  
A hundred memories.  
One person.

Exhaustion had become a constant in my time here. This place had stolen whatever energy I had left weeks ago, the repetitive rounds of fighting hadn’t ceased since our wakening. The others in the room with me seemed so familiar yet I can’t place their faces. My memory has become a blank slate with instincts and responses to certain stimuli seemingly appearing out of thin air. Muscle memory of skills I have no recollection of are the only reason I still breathe. Many of the others here would have ended my suffering days ago had my instincts not interfered and led me to victory. A hollow victory. And numerous defeats, the last of which had left me with massive bruising in my abdominal region.

The beings that keep us here have yet to show their faces and I begin to think the reason for that is they have no face to show, perhaps they do not even exist and I am a victim of my own imagination. Bound to this plane of existence until my eventual defeat. Some of those trapped here with me have made tentative friendships despite being pitted against each other mere hours later like fighting dogs. I had steered clear of such associations so far but with a dreadful feeling of familiarity one can’t help but become attached. There are many here whom my heart aches for whenever a blow lands, whose screams haunt my every breath and whose faces I hope never to see at the other side of the arena. Such a fight was geared up next.

In the centre of the room sat the arena, a simple circular outline on the floor marking the borders. Within stood two blonds at opposite sides, facing each other with blood stains a plenty and grim determination. The blond to left of me was larger than the other with short hair that had a single loch stubbornly pointing upwards as if to escape. He adorned a leather jacket that had few tears, ripped jeans and a pair of immaculate rectangular spectacles that sheltered the bluest eyes I had ever witnessed. He had won many rounds and lost so few the damage to his person was less severe than many of the others who now sported shattered bones.

The blond to my right had a similar record. His hair was shoulder length and might have flowed had we access to cleaning facilities. He had a single strand of hair curled once that hung low at the side of his face next to his untouched rounded spectacles, which magnified his stunningly violet eyes. He wore a hooded white coat which seemed to hug his frame and ended mid thigh. His trousers were slightly baggy but tucked into his calf high boots.

As the fight began the uneasy feeling in my heart grew to near unbearable heights. I knew that this fight would end in the destruction of something or someone and for a reason I cannot explain the very thought of either of the men before me gaining victory over the other sickened me to no end. Evenly matched as they were the blue eyed blond managed to stagger the violet one significantly and advanced towards his downed opponent. The unbearable feeling grew to pain as blue eyes grabbed violet roughly and drew back his arm. I scrambled to my feet and ran into the circle, a feat which had never been accomplished during a match before, and grabbed the arm before it could make contact with violet eyes’ face.

“Stop.” I spat through clenched teeth. Blue eyes met mine and I saw a spark of recognition before I was shoved violently away. I staggered but remained stood and once again grabbed blue eyes’ arm.

“I said...STOP!” I snarled as something in my soul finally snapped and power rushed through me. The resulting shock wave sent blue eyes back a few feet and pressed those around the room against the walls they rested on. All I could do, however, was release the scream that had built up in my throat as memories assaulted my brain and waves of power rolled off me. I saw everything and nothing in an instant as I finally put names to the faces they belonged to. In that moment my identity was returned to me and the extent of what could have happened only fuelled my rage. The people that held us captive had pitted my children against each other and would have led to the death of my sweetest baby. A crime that would not go unanswered.

As the force of my awakening died down, the familiar weight of my wings settled at my back and my rage manifested through my eyes as they glowed a green so sickly it could have melted stone. My gaze fell upon the man at my feet who stared at me in fear. I lowered myself to my knees, gently cupped his face and touched my forehead to his.

“_Canada_.” I whispered. I could see the moment his memories came back as his beautiful violet eyes began filling with tears. I sent my newly recovered energy through my hands into his body to heal the physical damage this place had inflicted.

“Eng-England..._Alfred..._” Canada stuttered and gasped. I shushed him and sat him up before an arm on my shoulder stole my attention. I turned to face the blue eyed blond and stood gracefully. His eyes were wary and grew alarmed when I cupped his face too and connected our foreheads.

“_America_.” I said softly. America’s eyes widened almost comically before he collapsed to Canada’s side.

“**Mattie!**” He choked as he threw himself at his brother and they embraced for the first time in 2 months. Knowing they were out of danger for the minute I proceeded to face the scared faces of the majority of the worlds nations as they huddled as close as possible to the walls. My eyes still glowed but the rage was hidden by empathy as I approached each of them individually and repeated the same process as with Matthew and Alfred. Some like Russia and Germany required more manhandling than others but soon all the nations present had been restored.

I circled back and settled my now aching body next to where Francis had joined the boy’s embrace. I drew my wings back into my body and they manifested as tattoos spanning the entirety of my back. All the pains I had been able to ignore with the rush of adrenaline made themselves known again and I grunted in pain as I sat more comfortably next to Matthew. The energy I had expended during not only the awakening of my memories but also the mass healing of those in the room was energy I had precious little of in my weakened state. The inevitable drooping of my eyes must have caught the attention of those next to me.

“Angleterre, do not sleep, there is much to discuss.” Francis spoke as he shook my shoulder roughly to rouse me enough for conversation but did nothing to dispel the growing fatigue. I shoved his hand off my shoulder with little force and sat straighter than I was before.

“I’m awake…” As the words left my mouth I could feel a growing urge to yawn but swallowed it quickly, it would not do to let my guard down so early after a match. Especially a match that had been interrupted.


	4. Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For them I would move the world. I would take up steel through blood and water to ensure their safety

For them I would move the world. I would take up steel through blood and water to ensure their safety. My heart would not be content if their safety was not guaranteed. It may crush my soul if theirs were contaminated with the touch of death. To die for them will give me purpose once again, in this I swear to uphold the creed of my people. I will snatch them from the clawed hands of death and die for them. Without them I have nothing left to live for.

The feeling of my blood escaping my body will be a sensation I will always remember the feel of. Yet my pride and determination prevents me from admitting defeat, the fate of those who depend on me will be written as a result of my actions tonight. To save them would mean victory whilst defeat would result in the destruction of the world I brought to life. The solid steel of my blade pierces flesh and tastes sinew as a wave of rage passes over me. Grunting and snarling with effort I refuse to be used as a destructive force once again the price this time is too high as I cut through dozens of enemies. Their voices wash over me and fill me with warmth but I cannot afford to lose sight of my goal. The power that brought me here must be destroyed so that the world may revert back to the peace it once was. I will move heaven to ensure the sanctity of their souls.

The being that brought this upon us sits high in its chair of power and though I long to pull out my bow and shoot it down where it lay, the satisfaction of toppling its pillar of strength is too tempting to resist. I have embraced a side of myself so long buried, I am unsure whether it will consent to returning to its cage.

“You have unleashed a force you cannot hope to contain.” I spat as the last of my opponents falls to my blade. This being has pushed me beyond my limits and shall soon learn the consequences.

“And what could you know of my power rodent?” It smirked as though I was inept. I straightened and smiled sweetly with a layer of cool madness swimming beneath the surface.

“Nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, this one was written with England in mind as the narrator but I suppose any country could fit.  
(Still don't own Hetalia)


	5. The Greatest Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parenting is the greatest journey and the most painful.

"Steady now child, let the pain dissipate before you stand." I knew what grief could spark in a person but I knew I could provide some assistance. I would do whatever it took to try and ease the passing of a loved one for my children. Loss is something I'm far too familiar with. They would always have a place in my heart and a room in my home.

Children and lovers never stop leaving an impression on one's heart, good or bad. It's often cruel the grip love can have on a soul, it can cherish but also destroy with utter disregard for any feelings still surviving. I'm weak when faced with those I still hold dear even despite their efforts to make me forget the fondness I showed them. I didn't understand with the first few what it truly meant to love and let go. Gilded cages no matter how comfortable still suffocated their inhabitants. It's a lesson I haven't fully explored to this day but I'm a great deal better than I was. 

Scarlet vengeance they cried as they fought the rule. Dressed in blue they descended upon us like acid rain, slaughtering, burning and rebelling with wicked determination. The first of the wounds on my heart soon to be joined by those who honeyed words to conceal righteous anger. Scar upon scar until the tissue encompassed the entirety of my beaten organ. It beat still, but as unsteady as the waves that rocked my shores.

But who was I to deny them the right they had as personifications? Their mere existence proved their future was one of nationhood but plans are rarely followed cleanly. Even when having been enraptured with a new young face I knew the inevitability but there were a few of my children whose hearts were too easily lost to mortals. It was their duty to represent the people and in doing so they felt their pain. It could easily shift to attachment, then dependence and ultimately raw love. But what a cruel fate awaited them. The fragility of mortals always shocks those who become attached and causes an agony deep within the soul.

Twas a wee lad this time. Lonely and on the streets but not unloved. My child sought to keep this one till death’s visit…and so he did. Years passed and the young lad's family grew and grew as time caught up to him as my child stayed ever young in body. The grief that came with the lad’s death carried over like a shock wave through the frayed bond we still shared and like any parent I rushed to comfort my child through the pain. Work forgotten, we attended the funeral and it was there surrounded by the family the child had created for himself did he truly allow his pain to show.

Collapsing as we approached the coffin I held my child as raw sorrow tore through him as pleading farewells left his lips and cries of the lad to return filled the room. There could be no words to comfort him as I knew. It was to be another scar on his heart, a child he would never forget and love until the end of days.

Perhaps it was foolish to form such attachments. But the love for one’s people brought with it a longing that could only be fulfilled in this way. There were no young colonies, so our people were the ones we sought to help. And in the end, in asking any nation who had done similar, you would find no regrets. For we live through our children, we live for our people and in the end we are no happier than when we are with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "With parenting there are no real answers. Instinctually you do the right thing; it happens the way it's supposed to. Do the best you can. Everyone goes goes through difficulties with parenting. We all go though the joys of it and we go through the difficulties of it. It's the greatest journey." Quote

**Author's Note:**

> I DON'T OWN HETALIA! I would like to keep my ideas, though if you'd like to expand on one PM me.  
1.) Poem excerpt from 'Do not go gentle into that good night' by Dylan Thomas
> 
> 2.) Take my drum to England, hang et by the shore, Strike et when your powder’s runnin’ low; If the Dons sight Devon, I’ll quit the port o’ Heaven, An’ drum them up the Channel as we drummed them long ago.  
From Drake’s Drum by Sir Henry Newbolt


End file.
